It's Time
by Keltic Rave
Summary: Caution contains suicide, character death. One Shot.


Dark and depressing fic, caution contains character death, One-shot. I own nothing, all is owned by J K Rowling all hail the goddess of writing.  
  
....It's Time....  
  
He sat alone in his room, the door locked from the outside, as his uncle didn't want a freak walking around his house. Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world sat in ragged clothes three times too big and was looking out a barred window to freedom that was denied to him.  
  
His prison and supposed salvation.  
  
The wards that surrounded the house kept out some monsters, but kept him near others.  
His only family, his uncle, cousin and aunt. He had never known a night where he hadn't been hungry or cold, before that fateful night he was whisked away to Hogwarts.  
  
Abuse, he hadn't known the word until he had gone to Hogwarts five years ago. They had kept him in shadows, unaware that how he was treated wasn't normal. How eleven years kept in a room where no windows and only an air vent to breathe was child abuse.  
Mentally and physically abused, traumatized and scarred. Malnourished from lack of food and water for days on end. He didn't know the meaning of the word abuse, only a feeling that it wasn't normal.  
  
Normal, Harry Potter was never normal, he couldn't be normal. No matter how hard he wished it, longed for it, needed it.  
  
So Harry Potter sat outside his barred window, and thought about his life, about all the things that normal boys would be doing and that he couldn't. Playing football, going to the movies with a girlfriend, a whole different life flashed in his head as he sat.  
  
His homework rested underneath the floorboards unfinished, his uncle would burn it if he found out the freak had freakish books in his house. Then he would storm up the stairs to his bedroom and beat him. When the beatings had first started, Harry had begged,  
pleaded for him to stop. Cried for hours on end, before he slipped into the awaiting darkness. Over the years he had three broken arms, various cracked and fractured ribs,  
concussions and once a dislocated shoulder.  
  
Now he didn't cry, he didn't make a sound when his uncle drew his black leather belt,  
his uncles face, a deep purple and eyes fairly burning with hate. Didn't make a sound when the leather tore into his skin, leaving scars that would be covered up with glamour the minute he got to Hogwarts. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the pain while his uncle was in the room. At first it had angered Vernon, his voice had sounded through the room, booming and echoing.  
  
_"So the boy thinks he's a man does he? Well let's see how much you can take boy. I'll make you scream soon enough."  
_  
That night he had blacked out, but he never made a sound, not one. All that could be heard were his uncles grunts and the whoosh of air as the belt lashed across his back and his own broken breathing.  
  
He had been unconscious for three days before a bucket of cold water splashing him had awoken him. The pain, all consuming, burning up feverish pain had been pushed aside as he got up and stumbled to the back door and vomiting up bile from his stomach and washing himself with a hose, because the Dursleys did not allow him to used the bath.  
  
So the Boy-who-lived sat staring out a window thinking about his own mortality.  
Unconsciously scratching a fingernail over a pulse on his wrist. It was red and swollen from the boy sitting for over an hour just doing that one continuous motion. Scratch, scratch, scratch.  
  
Harry's breathing grew harsher as his scar began to burn and memories flashed over and over again in his mind.  
  
_"Worthless freak, good for nothing boy, you should have died, you would have saved everyone a lot of trouble."_  
  
His memories turned to Sirius, screaming, of Cedric, so cold and his family screaming at his corpse. It was his fault, all his fault. He wasn't strong enough, to save anyone, even himself. How was he supposed to save the wizarding world from Voldemort, the world's greatest threat since Grinenwald, if he couldn't protect himself from his own family?  
  
It was a mistake, he was a mistake. A mistake he could fix.  
  
Fix the mistake of his life. Harry Potter blinked in shock. It was simple, so very simple.  
  
Suicide.  
  
He had a penknife that his godfather Sirius had given him. Just a quick slice and it would be over. He would fall off to sleep and they would find someone else to be the savior. Someone who could shoulder the weight of the world. Merlin knew he couldn't. He could hardly pass his potions final. Someone who liked the world the way it was. The prophecy was never about him. Some other soul who wanted to be famous. He needed to explain this to people.  
  
A note.  
  
Leave a note to those who would blame him. Explaining that they had it wrong, that he was a nobody, a worthless freak. Couldn't save anybody. It would work.  
  
Ten minutes later, the ink still wet and shiny on the parchment, Harry placed it on the stool next to his bed. He walked up to the bird cage. Hedwig, what would he do with Hedwig? Leave her out of the cage. She would know enough to fly away when the Dursleys opened the door to let him out.  
  
The penknife was sharp, never having been used. Shiny and metallic it gleamed in the soft sunlight that came through his barred window.  
  
His wrist, white, the vein so blue against the translucent skin. Skin that had been a month since it had been in proper sunlight. Locked in his room Harry had lost weight and his health had declined dramatically. Hardly moving around except for chores. Little water and less food.  
  
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, bathed in sunlight. Memories flashed through his mind, of Hogwarts, of his friends, the Weasley's, Hermione, of teachers. They all flashed through his mind as the Boy-who-lived slashed a line from his wrist to elbow.  
  
Hedwig, knowing something was wrong grabbed the note from the stool and flew to the only place where she knew Harry was happy. Hogwarts, and Dumbledore.  
  
So red. Sorrow flowed through the boy's mind. Forgive me.

(Flash) Ron, Qudditch, catching the golden snitch, Hermione.

(Flash) His parents, Godric's Hollow, laughter, his parents faces. Lily, James.  
  
Finally no more flashes or memories. His vision blurring, shadows were spreading.  
Darkness.  
  
The wards that had kept Harry Potter the savior of the wizarding world safe yet prisoner in the house in a brilliant flash of light collapsed.  
  
Dumbledore delighted at seeing a letter in the talons of Hedwig Harry's owl smiled.  
Opened the letter then swayed where he stood as he felt the wards around Harry collapse.  
Frowning he read the letter that Harry had written a few minutes earlier, and paled and collapsed, head in hands a picture of hope forsaken.  
  
Meanwhile. In a dark mansion, location unknown. An evil wizard, the terror of the wizarding world. While torturing and finally killing a muggle girl. Suddenly stopped. His blood red eyes, rolled into the back of his head as a orgasmic shudder wracked his body.  
Slowly opening his glinting eyes. He smiled and hissed.  
  
"It's time."


End file.
